13 Reasons Why
by Go Loko
Summary: As the title says, it's loosely based off the Netflix show. Maddison's daughter commits suicide and MerDer's son, having had a crush on her listens to the tapes left by her. MerDer, Maddison. Bad summary but story's way better.


**This was written back in 2017 but as I didn't notice thequeenofpassiveaggressiva's email until recently I'm posting now. All of the first chapter is hers. If you haven't watched 13 Reasons Why yet there might be spoilers.**

* * *

Tape 1 Side A: Justin -Eric Wilson

Tape 1 Side B: Alex - Kai Hunt

Tape 2 Side A: Jessica - Zola Shepherd

Tape 2 Side B: Tyler - Theodore O'Malley

Tape 3 Side A: Courtney - Sofia Torres

Tape 3 Side B: Marcus - Christopher Karev

Tape 4 Side A: Zach - William Bailey "Tuck" Jones

Tape 4 Side B: Ryan - Timothy Torres

Tape 5 Side A: Clay - Bailey Shepherd

Tape 5 Side B: Justin -Eric Wilson

Tape 6 Side A: Jenny -Harriet Avery

Tape 6 Side B: Shane - Shane Hahn

Tape 7 Side A: Mr. Porter - Mr. Webber

Tony - Samuel Avery

Katherine is Kat - a friend from New York

Coach Patrick - Coach Burke

Mrs. Bradley - Altman

Maddison and Shepherd kids basically like grew up together. Mark and Derek grew up together as brothers; Derek went to Boston for a conference, met Meredith and moved her back to New York with him. Maddison were childhood sweethearts and had a daughter named Emma when they were teenagers who they were forced to give up for adoption. Each couple married and starting having families. MerDer move to Seattle when Ellis gets diagnosed with Alzheimer's. A couple of years later, Maddison moves to Seattle. Maddison daughter and Shepherd kids have to get reaquainted. Shepherd son has a crush on Maddison daughter. At the school Maddison's daughter gets bullied and MerDer's daughter gets raped. Maddison's daughter commits suicide.

Tape 1 Side A: Eric Wilson

There's a locker… half-height and painted a royal blue. Blue… it supposed to be peaceful; cheerful even but it just feels tired. Unlike the stickered, scribbled, smudged lockers around it, this locker is unembellished. Bare.

"Hey. It's Ella. Ella Sloan."

The hall is empty. Quiet… as a graveyard. Well, it sort of is.

"That's right. Don't adjust your―whatever device you're hearing this on. It's me. Live and in stereo."

The school bell rings and the hallway fills up with students; students who crowd every locker, pulling out books, putting things, laughing, hurrying and not, except this one… The one that stands alone.

"No return engagements. No encore. And this time, absolutely no requests."

A locker slams closed. There stands a young boy, dark-haired with dimples, handsome but watchful, with a face that's young for his age, but daring blue eyes that are older. He turns to walk to class but stops short seeing something…

"Get a snack. Settle in."

...down the hall, the crowds part, and a young girl appears, long red hair flowing, looking beautiful, but she doesn't know it. She smiles at him, and he smiles back―stands taller, leans forward eager to say hello.

"Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life."

The crowds cover her, part again, and she's gone. A mirage. He blinks… Returning to reality and looks down the line to the bare, lonely locker―and where two girls with iPhones now stand around it.

"This was hers, right?"

"Totally," the other girl snaps a selfie with the locker then types away on her phone, "Hashtag never forget."

He steps toward them, and they scatter. He walks cautiously up to it and puts his hand on the locker… as if to protect? Maybe even get to know it better? He closes his eyes…

"What the hell?"

He turns around and there stands Eric Wilson. He's an eighteen year old Senior. He's a basketball jock. He's tallish but looks a bit soft. Usually, he'd be what they call dreamy but right now he just looks like Hell: dark circles around his eyes, wrinkled shirt like he slept in it, normally perfect hair unwashed. It looks like he's been up for days.

"What are you doing?" he asks, "Trying to break into her locker?"

"No―No, I―I just―"

"You weren't looking for something?"

"What would I be looking for?"

Eric leans in close, studying him, then he speaks, "You think you two had a thing, don't you? Something special."

"I don't think that. No. We were friends."

"Are you sure?" Eric asks with a slight smirk on his face.

Taken aback, the younger boy steps back a bit before he says, "Do you even know my name?"

"Of course I do, Bailey," he pauses, "You think it's not your fault at all, right?"

"Guys," the school counselor, Mr. Webber, walks up interrupting before Bailey is able to defend himself, "Second bell."

Mr. Webber isn't your typical high school counselor. Usually, you'd think of a young, fat, woman in ugly dresses but he's the complete opposite. He's quite old, maybe somewhere in his late 50's, slim and is actually dresses decently. Surprisingly, he doesn't have many wrinkles but you can tell that he, too, looks like he's been through Hell. Exhausted. Eyes red rimmed… He stares at the two boys in the hallway and yells, "Get to homeroom. Now."

Eric looks at Mr. Webber unmoving at first but then he slams his hand on the locker, turns on his heels and leaves. Bailey stands there watching. Mr. Webber eyes him too and he takes off towards his classroom.

Peer Communications. Mrs. Altman's class. She walks among the desks like a walking poster board for empathy; well intentioned, a good, smart teacher, but she's been on too many retreats.

"So there are a number of ways you can get help if you need it. Or if a friend does," she speaks as Bailey walks in and sits, fifth row, second desk. The middle. He's good at listening intently and thinking of something else entirely as she continues, "All this info is on the board outside my room, and outside the main office, it's on the Patriot home page―"

She stops suddenly as the class clown throws his hand in the air and she feels compelled to acknowledge him, "Mrs. Altman, is it possible we could be done with all this? It's been a week― isn't it healthy to, like, move on?"

"Seriously?"

"Shut your hole, DeLuca."

"Oh my god, really?"

"We're never done with it, Mr. DeLuca," Mrs. Altman speaks hushing the class, "Which is why it's important to know the signs that someone you care for might need help."

Bailey looks over to the fourth row, third desk. Empty. He's sure no one will ever sit there again.

"Are they withdrawing from friends or family? Having trouble in romantic relationships?" Mrs. Altman passes between Bailey and the empty desk, "Is there a change in their appearance? Their everyday demeanor?"

The red-haired girl, sits in the empty desk, with shorter hair. Her smile isn't as big as it was before. Her eyes, they don't beam like they used to. She's just there… listening along with the rest of the class as Mrs. Altman discusses the group project for this semester.

"The group collaboration project will be one-fifth of your semester grade, so―" the bell rings cutting her off as students begin to get up and leave, "―so please be committed and consistent and fair to each other."

Bailey waits at the front for her. He falls in step with her as they walk out into the hallway. He smiles nervously, "I like the hair. The short hair. I mean, I liked the long hair, too. But I like the―I mean, I realize this makes me seem wishy-washy, and in truth I don't actually like change, but this change seems cool."

She smiles, but just slightly, "Thanks."

She keeps looking at him, waiting for him to say more but he's so nervous that he just shrugs, "Yeah, I mean, so. Good. Yeah."

Abruptly, he gives a brief grin, then walks away towards his locker. He dials in the combination and jerks it open. A folded document falls from one of the vents and lands near his feet. He picks it up from the ground and reads 'Crane Beach Chamber of Commerce Town Map.' Turning it over, he reads in big red handwritten letters, 'Hang on to this. You'll need it.'

Bailey looks around and sees no one staring back at him; no one taking responsibility. He shoves the map into his bookbag, grabs his A.P. Literature book and slams his locker shut as he makes his way down the hall.

Bailey watches from down the hall as Mr. Webber twirls the lock of the unadorned locker. He tugs at it―still locked… Shaking a bit, he tries the combination again, pulls the lock―nope. Reading from a small slip of paper, he looks up to the parents standing behind him, "That's what I―one more time. I could never work lockers when I was in high school, either."

"You'd think there'd be a skeleton key, or something," says the male counterpart, Dr. Mark Sloan. He's somewhere in his 30's… dressed in a dark green button down and slacks. He looks… expensive, to say the least, but so tired, and beside him stands his wife, Dr. Addison Forbes Montgomery-Sloan, eyes rimmed red, shivering in a long black dress and a thick cashmere tailored coat.

"You'd think," Mr. Webber says trying the lock again. He tries for conversation in the meantime, "So, you two own that great little shoe store downtown."

"Owned," Dr. Sloan corrects.

Mr. Webber finally gets the lock open and pulls the door open to reveal books, some papers, a Girl's Academy sweatshirt. Just like the outside of the locker, the inside is clear of any decorations.

Dr. Montgomery-Sloan peers inside confused, "She doesn't have any stickers, or pictures, or―why doesn't she have any stickers? Did she take them down? Or never put them up? Why didn't anyone see that?"

"Honey. It's just a locker," Dr. Sloan says putting his hand on her arm. It's supposed to be in a comforting manner but she pulls away from him.

She turns on him, "Oh, you're sure?"

Afraid to say more, Mark turns back to the locker and begins to collect the books and papers inside, "This is everything?"

"We can go through this in my office," Mr. Webber explains, "I can return the textbooks―"

"We just need anything personal," Addison says cutting him off, "anything that's hers―"

"The lawyer says we should bring everything."

"The lawyer says a lot of things," Dr. Montgomery-Sloan says looking away. She sees Bailey down the hall, watching them.

Caught looking, he turns to hurry away and slams directly into Shane Hahn, a hard-eyed frat-boy-in-training. He's an 18 year old Senior and way less attractive than he thinks. He laughs, "Jesus. Walk much, Shepherd?"

"Sorry, Shane," Bailey says while glancing over to the adults at the locker.

Shane follows his eyes and turns back to him, "Ella's locker."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, like you don't know… Like you had nothing to do with it," he says pushing past Bailey, who watches him go.

* * *

**Should I continue with my writing? **


End file.
